The Noble Servant Page 2

  The tall one struck at his sword, but Steffan parried his strike. The tall one brought his blade down for another strike. Steffan shoved the short guard at him. The tall one struck his companion instead, slicing through his neck. The short guard made a gurgling sound as he fell face-first on the ground between them.

  Steffan kept striking at the tall guard, beating him back several steps. He refused to look at the river just behind his opponent so as not to reveal its proximity.

  Steffan gripped the sword hilt with both hands, wielding one overhand blow after another. He forced his enemy back one step at a time until he stood at the very edge of the bank. Only then did the man’s gaze dip to the river below.

  His eyes went wide and he hesitated, giving Steffan one extra moment. Steffan struck the man’s raised sword and pushed him. The man threw his arms out wide as he fell.

  He cried out just before he hit the water and went under.

  Steffan watched and waited. The man bobbed to the surface several yards downriver, flailing his arms, then went under again.

  Steffan walked back to where the first man lay in a puddle of blood. “Oh God in heaven,” he breathed, lifting his head and gazing downriver. The attack had hardly lasted five minutes, it happened so fast.

  “I just killed two men. Forgive me.” He made the sign of the cross with his right hand. The two men had intended to kill him. He’d had no choice, but the thought made him so sick he sank to the ground.

  Home. He would think of Wolfberg Castle. The chalky-white shore next to the sea behind the castle. The grassy-green pastures and the roar of the crashing waves.

  Who had wanted him dead? Could his uncle have sent assassins? Even if Steffan were dead, Lord Hazen would not inherit his title. Since Steffan had no heir, the title would become extinct, and yet it was likely that King Karl would bequeath Wolfberg Castle and all of Steffan’s properties to his uncle, unless the king had another loyal subject on whom he’d rather bestow this favor.

  Before she died, his grandmother had warned him about Lord Hazen’s greed and lack of feeling. Still, it was difficult to accept.

  Steffan walked to his horse and sheathed his sword. His two would-be murderers’ horses had shied away, but Steffan was able to catch them. He tied them to his horse and started toward Wolfberg and home.

  But what would he find when he arrived?

  Chapter Two

  What would life be like in her new home, married to the Duke of Wolfberg?

  Magdalen’s cart jolted as they hit another hole in the road, knocking her nearly into the wooden side rail. She had begged her mother to let her ride her horse, but Mother said riding a horse all the way on a three-day journey was not appropriate for a lady. Did she think it was ladylike to ride in a cart for twelve hours a day, rattling her teeth every time a wheel found a dip in the road?

  But no one argued with the Baroness of Mallin.

  Erlich, who had served Magdalen’s family for years, rode his horse while his daughter, Agnes, walked. And Lenhart made up the fourth member of their group as he walked beside the mules who pulled Magdalen’s cart.

  Wolfberg Castle stood on a hill overlooking the sea. She’d never beheld the sea. What would it be like to hear the waves crashing against the shore? What kind of rocks might she find there?

  “Rosings Abbey is just ahead.” Erlich pointed to the lane off to the right.

  Darkness closed in on them. Erlich reined in his horse as he waited for Lenhart to turn the mules, drawing Magdalen’s cart into the lane that would carry them to the abbey. The tall convent buildings, with their steep roofs, were visible above the rows of trees.

  At the abbey a young nun greeted them with a bow. She led Magdalen and Agnes to a long, low building, then to an austere room with two small cots. Magdalen’s legs were like jelly after using them all day to brace herself as she rode in the jarring cart.

  Agnes set her bundle on the floor. She turned one way then the other, her tight blonde braid swaying as she stretched her back. “I shall go and speak with my father and return soon.” Agnes did not ask permission but simply walked out before Magdalen could reply.

  Gretha, who had been her constant companion since Hegatha had died of a sudden apoplexy, had been all set to come to Wolfberg with her. The day before they were to leave, Gretha told Magdalen she would not be going with her, but Agnes would be taking her place.

  Not wanting to hurt Agnes’s feelings, Magdalen had agreed.

  Now as Magdalen prepared to lie down and sleep before the third and final day of their journey, she wished she had inquired more particularly about how this change had come to pass. Every day Agnes had done something—given Magdalen a shrewd look or spoken more sharply to her than any servant should—to make Magdalen regret allowing her to accompany her.

  And now, instead of asking her mistress if she needed anything, Agnes had left Magdalen to struggle alone to take off her heavy overdress.

  Magdalen didn’t want to embarrass Agnes in front of her father, but as soon as they arrived in Wolfberg, she would have a stern talk with Agnes about her duties as a lady’s maidservant. And if her attitude did not improve, she would replace her with someone from Wolfberg.

  Magdalen lay on the narrow cot, covered with a thin blanket since it was still late summer and warm, and thought of her future husband.

  Good sense told her it was strange that the Duke of Wolfberg would ask to marry her when Magdalen was only the daughter of a poor widowed baroness. He had seemed sensible when she met him and a man of integrity as well. Every time she closed her eyes and recalled his face, his smile, the kindness in his eyes, her heart fluttered.

  But truly, she knew very little about him. She had talked to him, all total, for only two or three hours.

  Agnes opened the door, then shut it behind herself, interrupting Magdalen’s musings.

  “When you are ready for bed, you may blow out the candle,” Magdalen told her.

  “I will.” A snide tone infused her cheerful voice.

  Magdalen said a prayer to quell her uneasiness and closed her eyes.

  The next morning when Magdalen awoke, Agnes was gone. Magdalen gathered her things, dressed herself, and was ready to go when Agnes came back in.

  “Here is your breakfast, Lady Magdalen.” With bold eyes she handed Magdalen a warm bundle. Inside was a bun stuffed with meat and cheese. “I also snagged us some apple pasties. Are you ready to go?”

  Soon they met Erlich and Lenhart with the cart, mules, and horse and set out on the road to Wolfberg.

  When they halted for their midday meal, Magdalen climbed down from the cart and took a drink from the small spring nearby. She splashed some of the cold water on her face, then wiped her cheeks and forehead with a cloth.

  When they had finished eating, Agnes and her father kept glancing at each other. A nervous flutter in the pit of Magdalen’s stomach caused her to watch them closely. Agnes clutched a small bag to her midsection as she turned to face Magdalen.

  “This is how things are.” Agnes’s eyes were hard and dark as she stood five paces away. “I want to be married to a duke, to be rich, and you are going to change places with me.” Agnes pulled her hand out of the bag withdrawing a knife. Her father stepped behind her.

  A cold tingling crept into Magdalen’s face and spread to her fingertips. Her gaze flitted from Agnes’s knife to her father. “Erlich?”

  “Do as she says, if you wish to live.” He skewered her with a dark, hard look.

  Agnes held the knife higher, at the level of Magdalen’s chest.

  Just then, Lenhart came out of the trees after relieving himself and gasped. He halted and stared.

  “Boy, stay back.” Erlich glanced at Lenhart. “Agnes is your new mistress. From this day on, Magdalen is no better than you are. Do you understand?”

  Lenhart continued to stare, his eyes big and round, his mouth hanging open. He shook his head.

  Magdalen tried to think of how she might defend herself and Lenhart,
but she had no weapon. What could she possibly do?

  “Take off your outer dress.” Agnes motioned with the knife. “I will wear yours and you will wear mine. From now on, your name is Agnes and mine is Lady Magdalen of Mallin.”

  Lenhart grunted, an angry sound, as he stepped toward Agnes.

  “I said stay back, boy.” Erlich faced Lenhart with clenched fists.

  Lenhart shook his head at him and grunted again. He lunged at Agnes’s arm. She screamed and Erlich grabbed Lenhart’s shoulder. Erlich drew back his fist and slammed it in Lenhart’s face, knocking him to the ground.

  “Stop it!” Magdalen rushed to Lenhart’s side and fell to her knees. “How can you be so cruel?” Blood oozed from a cut over his eye.

  “If he tries to interfere again, he’ll get worse than that.” No hint of remorse tempered Erlich’s voice. “Now do as you are told.”

  Magdalen pulled a clean cloth from her sleeve. She pressed it against Lenhart’s eyebrow to stanch the bleeding.

  “Get up!” Erlich yelled.

  Lenhart took the cloth and nudged her away. Fear and compassion shone in his eyes—he was worried they would hurt her.

  Magdalen stood to her feet.

  Both Erlich and Agnes glared at her out of narrowed eyes and hardened faces. But the knife Agnes thrust at Magdalen’s face was shaking.

  “Agnes, you cannot be in earnest.”

  “I am. And if you do not make haste to remove your dress, my father will rip it off.”

  Erlich stepped around Agnes and stalked toward Magdalen.

  “Very well.” Magdalen reached under one arm to untie the laces at the side of her overdress. “But I do not know how you think you will get away with this. The duke knows what I look like. Do you think he will believe an imposter?”

  “He will have no choice. I will show up saying I am you. I do not look so different from you. While wearing your clothes, I will be just as good as any baron’s daughter.”

  Magdalen could do naught except comply. Underneath her overdress she wore a long-sleeved, ankle-length chemise. She untied the other side of her sleeveless blue overdress.

  “And you had best not get any ideas about telling the duke who you are, or I will kill you and the boy. At least we don’t have to worry about him telling anyone.” Erlich alluded to Lenhart’s muteness.

  Magdalen’s hands began to tremble. If Agnes and her father killed Lenhart and her, how would anyone know what had happened to them? In fact, Erlich and Agnes might decide they were safer if they did. Should Magdalen try to fight them?

  Her friend Avelina knew what to do in a fight, knew how to think and plan and devise a way of escape. But Magdalen had been raised gently, taught little more than how to dance and greet dukes and princes and embroider tapestries. She had no idea how to contend with rebels and fiends.

  Erlich snatched the dress as soon as Magdalen pulled it over her head. He held Agnes’s knife pointed at Magdalen’s heart while Agnes took off her own dress and threw it on the ground. Then she donned Magdalen’s blue silk.

  Agnes and Erlich still stared at her, so Magdalen picked up Agnes’s brown woolen kirtle and pulled it on, letting the stiff material fall to her ankles, then tied the laces at the top of the bodice.

  “Now give me your necklace.” Agnes pointed with her knife at the rock pendant her father had given her. “Do it or I’ll cut it off.”

  Magdalen’s hands were steady as she unclasped her precious necklace, which represented the bond she and her father shared, all the times they had gone to the mines together and he had carefully taught her about copper ore and how it was mined, stories about the beautiful countryside around Mallin.

  Her blood was ice-cold as she handed the necklace over to Agnes and watched her put it around her own neck. Magdalen would bide her time and watch for an opportunity. She would get her necklace back from the usurper.

  Magdalen was a baron’s daughter. She could get help from one of the noblemen and women who knew her mother. But they were headed in the opposite direction of her friends in Thornbeck, and no one who had met Magdalen lived anywhere near here, except the Duke of Wolfberg. His sister, Gertrudt, had been at Lord Thornbeck’s two-week party, but she had married and moved far away.

  What if she told the duke she was Lady Magdalen and he didn’t believe her? Agnes had the same pale skin and similar hair coloring, though Magdalen’s was reddish-blonde and Agnes’s was more of a yellow-blonde. Magdalen’s eyes were green and Agnes’s were hazel. But he still might believe Agnes was really her.

  “Now I shall ride in the cart the rest of the way to Wolfberg while you walk beside it.” Agnes smirked in a way that made Magdalen clench her teeth.

  She would plan a way of escape, just as Avelina would have. Even when she was afraid, Avelina had worked hard to stand up to the evil that had been afoot in Thornbeck Castle. Did Magdalen have that kind of strength and determination?

  She was about to find out.

  Chapter Three

  Steffan had slept at the inn a day’s ride northeast of Prague, but he awoke with the same heavy feeling he’d lain down with.

  He traveled an hour before coming to a village. The church’s bell tower rose above all the other buildings, and he turned his horse in its direction, with his attackers’ horses following behind by use of tethers.

  He tied the horses to a stake just outside the church and went inside. “Is the priest here? I need someone to hear my confession.”

  “I am here,” a voice called from behind the chancel. “Go in and I shall be there in a few moments.”

  Steffan stepped into the wooden confessional box and closed the curtain, then lowered himself to the kneeling bench, focusing his mind on the Lord Jesus’ death on the cross.

  The priest shuffled into the box.

  Eager to get this done, Steffan blurted out, “I have committed a great sin against God and against humanity.”

  “There is no sin the Lord cannot forgive,” the voice said from the other side of the slatted window. “What have you done that you wish to confess?”

  “I killed two men.”

  The priest made a strangled sound, as if he’d choked on his own tongue. He coughed, drew in a loud breath, and coughed again.

  “Shall I go get some water for you?”

  The man cleared his throat. “No need. I am well. So you killed two men?” His voice rose higher as he spoke.

  “They tried to kill me.”

  “Why did they try to kill you, my son?” His voice almost regained the peaceful tone he’d had at the beginning of the confession.

  “They said my uncle sent them.”

  “Why would your uncle want to kill you?”

  “I don’t know. He probably wants my inheritance.”

  “So these men attacked you?”

  “Yes. They attacked me with swords.”

  “And you killed them both?”

  “Yes.” Steffan had never had a priest ask so many questions. “Have you had anyone confess to murder before?”

  “You are my first murderer. But Jesus says when we hate someone, we have committed murder already in our hearts. You did not hate these men?”

  “No, I never saw them before.”

  “I see. Since it was in self-defense, your penance shall be light. You must spend today and the next day in prayer for these two men’s families.”

  “Very well, I shall.”

  “And you may sleep tonight on a cot at the back of the church. Then if you will promise never to kill again, you will be absolved.”

  Steffan was silent as he thought about it. “If I am attacked again by my murderous uncle or his henchmen, I shall be forced to defend myself. I am not sure I can promise that.”

  The priest made a clicking sound, as if with his tongue against his teeth. “Well then, you must vow never to kill unless out of necessity to save yourself from being killed. And you must remember, vengeance belongs to the Lord.”

  Vengeance? It wasn’t somethi
ng he’d ever thought much about, but he did want to make sure his uncle was brought to justice if he was found to be guilty. His uncle deserved the greatest punishment for causing Steffan to kill two men.

  “I shall do as you have said.”

  “Very good. Now seek peace, my son.”

  Steffan spent the two days at the little village church, kneeling in prayer. He prayed so much and so long, his mind sometimes wandered. And when the assigned penance was over, he was not sure if the heaviness on his shoulders was any lighter. Had his prayers made a difference? Had he prayed fervently enough to receive God’s forgiveness?

  It seemed only right for him to feel guilty for taking two lives. Was praying for two days enough penance for two men who would never have a chance to repent and ask for the remission of their sins?

  Regardless, Steffan had had little choice. He had killed the men in self-defense. And now he rode toward the home he had not seen in almost two years.

  Erlich and Agnes moved a bit faster now, and they reached Wolfberg before sunset.

  As they neared the gate that led to the castle, Agnes whispered, “Not a word out of you, or Father will kill the mute boy.” She glanced in Lenhart’s direction.

  Magdalen merely glared back. You and your father will pay for hurting Lenhart.

  The cut over the boy’s eye was still crusted over, and his expression reminded her of a stray dog she’d seen once in the village of Mallin when some boys threw rocks at it. The thought of anyone hurting a kindly, innocent boy like him made her blood boil.

  She had to be brave like Avelina and watch for an opportunity to right this wrong.

  The gate was high and impressive, and the guards wore the gold and burgundy livery of the dukedom of Wolfberg. In the gray twilight, the castle emerged from the trees as they passed through the gate. The five towers loomed over them, one giant round one in the middle and one square tower at each of the four corners of the massive building.

  The guards halted their little group, and Erlich made a show of helping Agnes down out of the cart. He told them in a gruff voice, “This is the duke’s future bride, Lady Magdalen of Mallin.”